


All Inclusive

by wheel_pen



Series: Dangerously in Love [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two weeks of shore leave on an alien planet at first seems like too much for Trip to handle. Then he meets someone he’d like to spend a lot more time with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Inclusive

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Malcolm is not a member of the Enterprise crew, but rather someone Trip meets in a different way.
> 
> 2\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

Two weeks of shore leave. The twin instincts of elation and anxiety warred within Trip whenever he thought about it. Shore leaves, and away missions in general, had not been ending well for him lately. Of course, staying on the ship had also been d—n dangerous the last few months, between alien intruders and damaging firefights and all the other "adventures" they'd been having. "What this crew needs is a nice, long shore leave," the Captain had said, looking straight at Trip. The oh-so-subtle message had gone completely over Trip's head at the time, as he had been on hour nineteen of the latest repairs and had nearly lost the ability to communicate with anything non-electronic.

Finding himself in an alien city with no work to do had been a little disorienting at first, especially when the Captain had had to stay behind at the last minute to sort out some personnel difficulty. The other crewmembers had already made their plans and although Hoshi and Travis graciously invited Trip to join them at a local music festival they'd read about, the engineer decided that what he really wanted was just a quiet drink and an early bedtime. Boring, yes, but as soon as Jon arrived tomorrow he would probably want to hit the rock climbing walls in one of the parks and Trip needed to save up some energy for the activity.

The city boasted any number of bars and clubs, including one in their hotel, but Trip had felt like walking just a little and started down the block with no particular destination in mind. It was a beautiful night: just cool enough for a light jacket without being uncomfortably breezy, streetlamps designed to provide security without obliterating the glittering stars above, an oddly sweet scent on the air that he'd smelled since he stepped out of the shuttlepod an hour earlier. Couples, small groups, and the occasional single person wandered up and down the streets, usually laughing; it didn't feel crowded, more like the neighborhood was just out enjoying itself.

Trip had to smile at the passersby even as he felt oddly melancholy. There was nothing he loved more than working on _Enterprise_ 's engines, surrounded by his friends and trusted colleagues; but every once in a while he wished he had someone else, someone _special_ , he could spend a beautiful evening with. But such things were awkward aboard the ship; if anything went sour—from a one night stand to a long-term romance—you could still very well find yourself having to work with that person the next day. Not to mention the fact that there was no one he would judge had potential for a long-term romance, at least at the moment, and he had never been entirely comfortable with one night stands.

Trip shook his head, smirking at the glum thoughts he was wasting his time on when he was supposed to be on vacation, enjoying himself. Just a couple drinks, he decided, slowing as he approached a festive-looking watering hole, then early to bed. That would be relaxing, at least.

If the lounge had been on Earth, Trip would have said they were going for a tropical theme, with gaudy flower prints, exotic fruit decorations, and lively music. Indeed, the servers were dressed in brightly-colored patterns reminiscent of Trip's loudest Hawaiian shirts, their clothing in the style of swimwear. He chuckled a little, imagining the horrified look on Jon's face were he to see this place, then took a seat at the end of the bar.

"What can I get for you?" the bartender asked immediately, his manner accommodating without being too friendly.

Trip had no idea. "What's your special tonight?" he finally asked.

"Corinthian berrywine," the man answered promptly, already reaching for a bottle of some obscenely blue liquid. "Would you like one?"

What the h—l. "Sure," Trip agreed, and the bartender expertly filled a long-stemmed glass with the electric blue substance. It smelled delicious, vaguely fruity, and Trip wondered for a moment if it were some kind of 'girly' drink. He tried to glance around the room surreptitiously and noticed a number of other patrons of both genders appeared to be enjoying it, so he shrugged and took a sip. It was thicker than he'd expected, with an unusual bubbly feel, almost carbonated, but the flavor was pleasantly tart and the kick, when it hit him a moment later, was mellow enough that he didn't start sputtering.

Trip wasn't looking for any company. But nothing said a fellow couldn't people-watch, so he let his eyes drift across the patrons casually, counting up the number of species he recognized and trying to guess who was with whom and why. He even let his gaze linger on a handful of especially intriguing characters, but whenever someone started to make eye contact he stared back at his drink. No use encouraging someone he would just have to shake off later.

A particularly boisterous group had just entered the bar, three women and two men laughing riotously, and Trip wasn't the only one whose attention they attracted momentarily. He was about to turn away when he saw the person who had come in just behind them, in their wake but obviously not with them. The man was not especially tall by Earth standards, but the close-fitting grey shirt he wore and the graceful way he moved said he knew how to take care of himself. His hair was quite dark, almost black, and close-cropped, and his high cheekbones looked like something carved from marble. The dark markings on his temples, rather like abstract tattoos in Trip's mind, denoted him as a member of the local population, who otherwise looked remarkably like humans, at least outwardly.

Trip's gaze made a couple of passes up and down the man, who had stopped near the door, then went to his face again—only to find dark eyes staring straight back at him. Embarrassed at being caught, Trip quickly turned back to the bar and finished up his drink. When he glanced towards the door again the man had gone, and Trip decided it would probably be a good idea to head back to the hotel now.

He had just started to stand when a low voice beside his ear suggested, "You should try one of the local drinks."

Startled, Trip saw the dark-haired man beside him, leaning casually on the bar, and spared a moment to wonder how the h—l he'd moved so fast through the crowd. Then he spent another two moments admitting that he was even better looking close up. _Then_ he reminded himself that he was not looking for a temporary hook-up and started to shake his head.

"Thanks," Trip told him, "but I was just leaving."

The man smiled, just a little. "Are you sure? One can find Corinthian berrywine anywhere, after all. But to visit Lymnaea without sampling any of the homebrew..."

The Universal Translator rendered the man's language with an oddly British accent, which had always made Trip a little weak in the knees. He'd have to ask Hoshi about it, as none of the other Lymnaeans he'd met had sounded this way. The man arched an eyebrow, waiting for his response, and Trip steeled himself to say no even as his reasons for doing so started to vanish from his mind.

"Alek," the man continued, signaling the bartender while keeping an approving eye on Trip, "two _narellas_ , please."

Well, if the man was getting him a drink, Trip decided, it seemed a little rude to just walk out. He smiled a little and sat back down. "Thanks." He held out his hand, conscious that the man might not know what he was getting at. "My name's Trip."

Surprisingly the dark-haired man gripped his hand firmly and shook it. "Malcolm." The name also caught Trip off-guard; but Hoshi had explained to him once, somewhat patronizingly, that names were just groups of syllables anyway, and he shouldn't be so shocked when he encountered someone on a planet lightyears from Earth with a name that sounded like Alice or Joe or Harry. Or Malcolm.

Malcolm settled himself on the barstool beside Trip but didn't seem in a hurry to make small talk. That was okay with Trip; he was just enjoying looking, and being looked at. "So what's a _narella_?" he finally asked, hoping to hear that accent again.

"It's a beverage some of the locals make," Malcolm explained easily. "It's based on fermented berries, but with a variety of other native fruits steeped in it."

"Oh yeah, we've got something like that on Ear—where I'm from," Trip enthused. "We call it _sangria_."

"Every person makes it differently," Malcolm continued knowingly, "and Alek's is definitely the best in the city."

As if on cue, the bartender presented them with two hearty glasses full of a dark red liquid with various fruit pieces bobbing in it. "Cheers," Trip offered, lifting his glass. Malcolm mimicked the gesture and they both took a sip. Trip's eyes widened in surprise as the flavor smoothly spread across his tongue. "D—n, that's good," he commented approvingly.

Malcolm smiled, pleased. "So you're from Earth?"

This man was definitely full of surprises, Trip decided. "You've heard of it?"

"We get a lot of travelers through here," Malcolm pointed out, "with a lot of stories. Occasionally featuring the valiant crew of the _Enterprise_." Trip stared at him, starting to get just a little creeped out now—until Malcolm gave the identifying patch on Trip's jacket a light stroke and the blond had to laugh, partly in relief. "So what's your job there?"

Trip waved the question off. "Chief Engineer, but—you know, shore leave, tryin' to get work outta my head for a while."

"Of course," Malcolm sympathized, his tone utterly sincere. "It must be a very difficult job."

Trip shrugged and downed more of his drink. "Challengin' in a good way, usually," he corrected. "I've got a good crew workin' for me." He shook his head and laughed a little. "Like the other day, they..."

Trip wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he blinked and broke off mid-sentence when he reached the bottom of his second glass of _narella_. He didn't even quite remember finishing the first, the people in the crowd had changed completely, and he'd been reminiscing about engineering while Malcolm smiled slyly at him and blinked those beautiful blue-grey eyes.

"You shouldn't have let me go on so long," Trip scolded him lightly, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"You were talking about something you loved," Malcolm reminded him fondly. "I quite enjoyed it, actually." Trip chuckled a little but dropped his eyes to his drink, shifting in his seat a bit. Flirting was something he was more than accustomed to, and quite enjoyed; but there was something about the intensity of this man's attention that made him feel, not uncomfortable really, but self-conscious. "I imagine that this is your first night on Lymnaea," Malcolm guessed suddenly, straightening up a bit. "You shouldn't spend the whole thing sitting in a bar. Would you like to go for a walk?"

Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Trip started to decline. "I should really get back to my hotel," he decided regretfully. Malcolm lifted an eyebrow and Trip hastily clarified, "To sleep, I mean, uh—my friend's coming tomorrow and he's probably gonna want to check out some of the athletic facilities, so..."

"Well, let me walk you back, at least," Malcolm offered. "Perhaps we'll pass by something interesting on the way."

Trip couldn't see the harm in that. The two of them rose from their seats and began to weave through the crowd towards the door. Malcolm seemed more adept at sliding in between groups of revelers without even touching them and for a moment he disappeared from Trip's view. Then a pleasantly warm hand grabbed his and Malcolm was back, gently guiding Trip through the throng to the cool evening outside. His touch lingered a moment longer than necessary, then dropped away. Trip felt the slightest bit disappointed.

"Guess you're a local, huh?" Trip asked as they strolled down the sidewalks, unhurried. The evening was still just as beautiful as it had been when he'd been out last.

"That's right," Malcolm agreed. "This place here"—he pointed at the darkened store they were passing—"makes the best _caneesta_ food in this part of town. It's a kind of ethnic food from one of the other continents," he clarified, at Trip's questioning look. "A lot of spicy meat and cheese combinations, rolled up in various thin breads. Excellent sort of snack to carry about while you're out."

"I'll have to check it out sometime," Trip decided, looking back to note the name. "I talked about _my_ job long enough, what is it _you_ do?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Oh, nothing too interesting," he insisted lightly. "I work at several of the bars in this district. They're all owned by the same person, so the employees rotate among them. You seem like the type to enjoy a good souvenir," he added, before Trip could question him further.

Trip thought of the cheesy snowglobes and paperweights cluttering the desk in his cabin. "I like to bring a little something back with me," he admitted. "Something fun. The hotel has a gift shop—"

Malcolm snorted dismissively. "Oh, you don't want any of _that_ junk," he assured Trip. "Most of it's not even made on the planet. Just generic things brought in for tourists. Now _this_ place"—he pointed at another shop across the street from them—"that's where you want to go. They bring in _real_ hand-crafted items from all over planet, anything you could want. Clothes, blankets, stone and wood carvings, jewelry, pottery, everything. You should stop there sometime during your trip and pick up a handful."

Trip shook his head with a smile. "You know your way around here pretty well," he commented.

"Of course," Malcolm agreed cheerfully. "Everyone in the city works in the tourist industry, really. We want people to have a good time here."

"I don't see how this all works," Trip admitted, enjoying the light breeze on his face. "The guy who came to _Enterprise_ to arrange the shore leaves, he kept sayin' 'all inclusive.' Food, souvenirs, hotel rooms..." Malcolm nodded. "Well, how can the city afford all that?"

Malcolm smirked a little. "Most tourists do not take full advantage of the opportunities available to them," he replied knowledgeably. "They might have a few nice meals, pick up a couple imported glass figurines, maybe order room service at the hotel they've been assigned. They'll have a good time, which is the important part of course, but they're hardly getting their money's worth. So in the end the city makes a profit."

"Well," Trip asked with a bit of a smile, "as a local, what do you suggest I see around here, to get my money's worth?"

"I would be more than happy," Malcolm began, slowing to a stop near a flowering tree, "to give you a complete tour."

Trip stopped and looked down to meet his blue-grey eyes, grin widening. "Well, how do you know what I would be interested in?"

"Oh, I think I can guess," Malcolm replied. "For example—is that your hotel?"

Trip turned suddenly and saw that they were almost in front of the place he'd been registered. "Oh. Yeah. Why?"

"Bit staid," Malcolm shrugged. "Clean enough, friendly enough, but—for a true shore leave, surely you'd like to stay somewhere a bit... nicer."

"Um, I don't know," Trip responded hesitantly. "It seems nice enough to me."

"Three blocks down is the Chatelaine House," Malcolm continued, nodding down the street. "It's just a little hotel, but very luxurious. Used to be part of the old palace. A lot more local color than one of these giant chain hotels." He smiled invitingly. "I bet I could get you a room there."

"I don't know..."

"It's all inclusive, of course," Malcolm reminded him temptingly. "It's just most people don't think to ask for an upgrade." Trip still looked unsure. He was thinking about picking up his bags, transferring his reservation, contacting Jon to let him know about the change—it just seemed like too much work, especially at this time of night when people weren't likely to be up. "Come on," Malcolm cajoled, walking towards the hotel. "Let's just see, shall we?"

Trip followed him across the street and into the lobby, which _had_ looked elegant and spacious when he'd first arrived. Well, compared to starship quarters, it still was, but now it had the faint whiff of the generic about it—like something pretty but without much personality. He hadn't really thought much about the place, honestly, it had gone in and out of his mind so quickly.

Malcolm strode right up to the desk, where the petite clerk smiled at him in recognition. "Hello, Malcolm," she greeted.

"Hello, Genni," he replied cheerfully. "I believe my friend"—he indicated Trip, and the engineer felt an inordinate thrill at the word—"is registered here, but he's thinking of transferring to Chatelaine House. How much trouble do you think that'd be?"

Genni turned her attention to Trip. "Commander Tucker from _Enterprise_ , isn't it?" she asked confidently.

"Uh—yeah," Trip confirmed, a little surprised. Malcolm smiled at him and quirked an eyebrow.

Genni tapped efficiently at her computer. "There's an opening at Chatelaine House," she verified, "the Scarlet Room—"

"How about the Azure Room?" Malcolm countered. He gave Trip a once-over that sent a pleasant shiver down the blond's spine. "You look more like an Azure to me."

"The Azure Room is also open," Genni agreed. "Shall I have your bags transferred there, Commander?"

"See?" Malcolm encouraged. "You don't even have to lift a finger."

"Well—why not," decided Trip, giving in. He was here to enjoy himself, after all. He hadn't stayed in a fancy hotel room since—okay, well, never. And he had to admit, the look of satisfaction on Malcolm's face was... alluring.

"And is there anyone you'd like us to inform of this change, Commander?" Genni asked pleasantly, drawing Trip's attention back momentarily.

"Oh, yeah," he replied, "Jonathan Archer—"

"Captain Archer, also of _Enterprise_?" Genni filled in helpfully.

"That's the one."

"We'll send a message immediately, sir."

"Thanks," Trip finished, unsure what he was supposed to do now.

"It'll take them just a few minutes to transfer your things," Malcolm informed him. "On the way to Chatelaine there's a little shop that's open late. Pastries, pies, perfect if you've got a sweet tooth."

Trip grinned. "Have I ever. Lead the way."

Twenty minutes later Trip was licking his fingers in blissful contentment as they continued down the street. "What was that called again?"

" _Ganatha_ ," Malcolm repeated. "It refers to the kind of nut that makes up most of the pie."

"That is the only thing I've ever tasted that could rival my nana's pecan pie," Trip admitted, feeling as though he were almost being sacrilegious. "Chef on the ship makes pecan pies for me sometimes, and they're really pretty good, but it's all reconstituted, resequenced stuff, you know?"

Malcolm nodded. "The _ganathas_ in these pies are grown fresh in groves just outside the city. It's a fairly popular dessert around here, but you have to be careful where you get it—most places just use canned ingredients, instead of fresh." He suddenly stopped Trip under a streetlamp and reached up to his face, wiping a smudge of pie filling from the corner of his mouth. "You've got a bit here." The touch was electric, and instead of pulling away Malcolm pushed the sweet mixture towards Trip's lips, where his tongue could snake out and lick it up. He saw the other man react as his tongue passed briefly over the pad of his thumb.

After a moment Malcolm pulled away, coy smile still in place. "Shall we see if the room meets your approval?"

For an instant Trip had forgotten what he meant, forgotten everything except those deep blue-grey eyes, then he realized they were right in front of their destination—a narrow but grandly-decorated house covered in wrought-iron scrollwork and intricate carved stone. It reminded him of the old mansions he'd seen in New Orleans once. Taking Trip's hand, Malcolm led him through the low metal gate just off the sidewalk and up to the heavy front door, which opened immediately as if someone had been waiting for them. A man in a fancy uniform, obviously more specialized than the generic 'modern businesswear' the people at the original hotel had been wearing, swept a bow before them and gestured them in. Trip was impressed already.

The front room was almost ridiculously overstuffed with plump couches, paintings, wall hangings, and tables, with eclectic knickknacks on every surface and a huge fireplace with a fire crackling merrily—a _real_ fire, it looked like. An alien version of a cuckoo clock hooted cheerfully from the wall near Trip's head and he watched, fascinated, as a strange carved creature popped out to tell the time. "Wow," he breathed.

"I thought you might like it here," Malcolm remarked.

The uniformed man somehow knew Trip immediately—he suspected it was because he was with Malcolm, who appeared to be a rather well-known figure around town—and showed them up a flight of twisty, creaking stairs to the second floor. Trip suddenly realized he hadn't been on real stairs since he'd visited his great-aunt's old house as a child. Their guide stopped at the first door and handed Trip a key—an old-fashioned metal key, twisted and bent and shaped to fit the lock on the door. He'd read about those in books, but all the locks he dealt with these days were electronic. Malcolm tactfully worked it for him.

"Oh my G-d," Trip sighed, when he finally saw the room.

"Take off your shoes," Malcolm suggested eagerly, already doing the same.

The deep blue carpet was so thick and lush, it was like walking in the most perfect field of grass. Better even, because really grass tended to be kind of prickly and lumpy. There was another fireplace, with the fire already lit, and an overstuffed blue couch facing it. Trip reached out to pet the plush fabric and it felt like velvet under his fingers.

"Computer, cycle through channels," Malcolm said, "volume at two." A large screen, easily a meter and a half wide, situated on the wall above the fireplace flickered to life, displaying a few seconds of each of the planet's many communications networks. Local news, sports, nature shows, even something that looked like an action movie blinked by.

"D—n, that screen's almost as big as the one we watch movies on during Movie Night," Trip commented, shaking his head in disbelief. "Which I hafta set up and take down each time, 'cause it's just in the Mess Hall."

"You can get an even bigger one, if you like," Malcolm assured him.

"Oh, no, no, this is great," Trip said hurriedly, thoroughly overwhelmed.

"You could even arrange for a movie to be sent down from your ship, if you wanted to watch something in particular," the dark-haired man added. He was rummaging at a counter on the wall with the door and Trip joined him.

"What've you got there?"

"Wet bar," Malcolm announced, unscrewing a bottle of something sparkly. He filled two fluted glasses and handed one grandly to Trip. "Shall we see the rest?"

"G-----n," Trip exclaimed when he saw the bathroom. It was all done in blue, too, of course, but it alone was as big as his cabin on _Enterprise_ , with a walk-through shower and a separate tub that could easily have held five people.

"Best for last," Malcolm smirked, drawing him through to the bedroom. The bed was the most enormous piece of furniture Trip had ever seen, a grandiose four-poster creation with curtains tied back at each corner, every inch of wood carved. And set on a two-step dais.

"I'll fall and break my neck climbin' down from that in the middle of the night," he finally decided. Not that that was going to stop him from using it. He had a feeling the sheets alone would be worth whatever Jon had paid for this shore leave.

Malcolm pulled him a little closer to the bed, and closer to himself as well. "That's why you should never get into one of these alone," he pointed out leadingly.

"Maybe you're right about that," Trip agreed slowly, advancing on the shorter man. Malcolm stepped up onto the dais, putting his back against one of the posts. He reached his hand out to Trip's face and gently urged him closer, until their lips brushed together. Trip smelled the alcohol they'd been drinking and pressed in, wanting to know if he could taste it as well. His tongue slid past Malcolm's lips and they were soon kissing voraciously, until Trip was dizzy from lack of oxygen.

"Careful, Trip," Malcolm told him with another enigmatic smile, steadying him before guiding him down to the edge of the bed. "We wouldn't want to start your shore leave off with a fall, would we?"

 

All Trip could see for a moment was blue. Blue bedspread, blue bed curtains, blue walls, blue carpet beyond... Even the light filtering in through the windows was blue, thanks to the thin, tinted shades. Could you have too much blue in the world, he wondered idly. No, he didn't think so. A soft sound next to him drew his attention and Trip turned his head, smiling slowly as he saw Malcolm curled on his side, fat pillow clamped between his head and arm. He appeared to still be asleep and Trip tried to turn without waking him, taking the opportunity to study his face without his intense gaze looking back.

His scrutiny didn't last too long, though, as Malcolm's eyes suddenly snapped open, his body tense, mind obviously fully alert. "Whoa, there," Trip calmed him, startled.

"Sorry," Malcolm apologized with a bit of a smile, relaxing immediately. "Waking up in a strange place and all."

"Yeah, well..." Trip wasn't too sure what one was supposed to say at this juncture. "Pretty nice place you found."

"We aim to please," Malcolm told him cheekily, leaning across the pillow to kiss him. They broke apart after a moment and Malcolm asked, starting to stretch, "So what would you like to do today?"

Trip dropped his eyes, feeling awkward all of a sudden. "Um, actually, I'm supposed to meet my friend for breakfast"—he glanced at the chrono on the nightstand—"pretty soon."

"Of course," Malcolm replied, pulling back a bit. He started to push the covers aside. "You probably want to run through the shower first. I can let myself out."

"Wait a minute, hang on," Trip insisted, reaching out to grab his arm. The dark-haired man dropped back onto the bed and looked over his shoulder at Trip. "I just mean, um—I had a good time last night..."

"I could tell," Malcolm commented, amusement in his smile.

Trip's cheeks colored a little, pleasantly so. "And I mean—uh, I'd like to see you again. That is, I mean, if you want, if you want to show me the city or anything—later--" D—n, why was this so embarrassing? He felt like a teenager tripping over his own feet.

Malcolm rolled onto his stomach to better regard Trip. "I thought you and your friend had plans for today."

"They were just—casual," Trip assured him. "We've got two weeks, Jon and I can go rock wall climbin' anytime."

"Well, I can show you around anytime," Malcolm countered accommodatingly. "You can call me some other time, if you'd rather."

The man was being far too relaxed about this. "I just don't want you to get the wrong impression of humans," Trip admitted uncomfortably. "I don't want you to think—Earth boys are easy or somethin'."

Malcolm grinned, just for an instant, and Trip realized that for all the smiling the man did he'd never seen one that broad. "I promise I won't think that," he assured Trip, his laughter barely contained. "Look, I'll leave my number for you. Call me whenever you'd like." He slid gracefully off the bed, completely unself-conscious of his nakedness— _If I had a body like that I'd show it off too_ , Trip thought to himself—and searched the desk drawers for a data pad. "There you go," he announced, dropping the pad on the pillow by Trip's head. "Or just ask around for me, bars and hotels especially."

"Popular guy," Trip commented, watching him scoop up his clothes and start to dress.

"I know people," Malcolm shrugged modestly. "It pays to know people, around here." For a moment Trip thought his tone was odd, dark almost, but then he smiled and swept his arm around the room. "I mean, look at _this_ place. Would you have even known about it without me?"

"Absolutely not," Trip agreed cheerfully. "This place is fantastic. Jon is gonna go three shades of green with envy."

Malcolm sat on the edge of the bed to pull his socks on. "I'm sure they could get him a room here, too," he mentioned. He flopped back on the bed, his head practically in Trip's lap, and the blond laughed as he contorted himself to kiss him. "Unless you'd rather retain your superiority," he added archly. "In which case—so sorry, all booked."

Trip snickered as Malcolm pulled away and stood up. "I'll have to think about that one," he decided.

"Well, if you need anything, just give me a call," Malcolm reminded the blond, lingering at the foot of the bed.

"I will," Trip promised. "Later today." He was sorely tempted to just send a message to Jon cancelling breakfast and pull the dark-haired man back into bed, except he had the strange feeling that there was no way he could lose Malcolm if he tried—not that there was anything unpleasantly stalkerish about him, just that he seemed like the sort of person who always popped up just when you were thinking about him. And besides, it seemed like half the town knew him—the motherly woman manning the sweet shop had practically pinched his cheeks in delight upon seeing him.

"Alright. See you then." And with that he was gone.

 

Trip had spent fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to turn the fancy shower on—pretty embarrassing, considering he was a _starship engineer_ —then more than twenty luxuriating under the hot water and playing with the different settings. He could even watch the comm networks from a small waterproof screen inside the shower. It was slightly ridiculous, but a lot of fun. The hotel staff had neatly folded his clothes and tucked them away in various drawers; they never got such good treatment at home, that was for sure. By the time Trip was showered and dressed, he was running late for breakfast and ended up sprinting the few blocks to the hotel he'd originally been registered at.

Jon was already sitting at a table in the hotel restaurant, helping himself to the local equivalent of toast and orange juice. "Sorry I'm late," Trip told him hastily, dropping into a chair with a slight pant.

Jon waved him off. "No problem. This is vacation, after all." Trip glanced at the menu without really comprehending it, idly wondering what Malcolm would have suggested he get. Finally he asked the perky waitress to get him whatever Jon had gotten and settled back into his seat.

"So..." the older man began leadingly. "I got this message that you had checked out of this hotel and into someplace else—some kind of house?"

"Chatelaine House," Trip informed him. "It's a couple blocks away. It's smaller, more local color."

The captain could sense Trip wasn't telling him everything. "Is it... nice?"

For a moment Trip contemplated keeping the secret to himself. "Eh..." But under Jon's gaze he couldn't hold back a grin. "It's _fantastic_. The bathroom alone is as big as my cabin on _Enterprise_."

Jon shook his head. "And you're going to be paying for this out of...?"

"It's _all inclusive_ ," Trip pointed out knowingly. "It's just that most people don't think to ask for an upgrade."

"And you did." Jon's tone was skeptical.

Trip picked at the toast that had arrived, breaking off a corner to dunk in his jam. "Well, it was kind of suggested to me..." Jon raised an eyebrow in a passable imitation of T'Pol. "...by this guy I met. Last night."

The captain laughed out loud. "What?" asked Trip, smirking in advance.

"You've barely been here twelve hours," Jon explained cheerfully, "and you've already picked up a local. Excellent work."

"Hey now!" Trip protested, mock indignant. "You make it seem like I do that kind of thing all the time. What am I, some kind of intergalactic floozy?"

Jon laughed all the harder at the imagery. When he'd finally calmed down a bit he continued probing for juicy gossip from his friend. "Kind of rude to just leave this guy in bed while you have breakfast, don't you think?" he teased. "You should've brought him."

"I will have you know, I did _not_ leave him in bed," Trip assured him, voice ripe with self-righteousness. Then he added, "He left before I got up."

Jon continued to snicker. "Well are you going to see him again?"

"I got his number," Trip insisted. "He works around here, at one of the bars, some kind of bartender, and knows _everybody_. And everything about this place." Jon's interest was piqued. "Last night we had this local drink like sangria, you know, wine with pieces of fruit in it, and stopped by this sweet shop with the most _fantastic_ nut pie, _and_ he told me about this new hotel. Which has a _huge_ comm screen and _two_ fireplaces. And a comm screen in the shower."

The captain was laughing again. "Twelve hours, Trip," he repeated. "Twelve hours ago I had to _pry_ you off the ship, like some kind of barnacle, and now you've got yourself an amiable local guide and a secret five-star hideaway." He shook his head. "And to think I was worried you might spend your time reading technical journals or something."

Trip polished off his breakfast. "Nope," he answered lightly. "By the time these two weeks are up, I'll have forgotten everything I know about engineering. I guarantee it."

"Wonderful," Jon replied dryly.

Trip let a few companionable minutes go by before he broached the next subject. "So... you still want to go rock wall climbing today?"

His voice was not quite as enthusiastic as Jon had expected—but the older man thought he knew why. "Well, I thought _I_ would check out a couple places," he replied. "But if you'd rather call up this..."

"Malcolm," Trip supplied quickly.

"...Malcolm, go on ahead."

Trip shook his head. "Nah, that's okay. I can get together with him later." He couldn't quite make the statement as casual as he had meant to, though; in truth the rock wall climbing was looking less appealing. Unless of course Malcolm were going with him.

Jon picked up on the reluctance immediately. "You should call him," he suggested with a grin. "Let him take you on a tour of the city. Or your bathroom," he added with a smirk.

Trip gave him a look. "And leave you all alone in this place?"

"I _think_ I am more than capable of looking after myself on shore leave," Jon shot back good-naturedly. "Maybe—I'll even find my _own_ 'local guide.'"

He could see Trip giving in. "You're sure you don't mind?"

"No, not at all," Jon laughed. He was just thrilled to see Trip enjoying himself, after being hunkered down in Engineering for so long. "We'll go climbing some other time."

"Okay, great," Trip finally agreed, enthusiastically.

 

He didn't want to look too eager. Not that he was concerned about "playing it cool" or anything, he just didn't want to become a stalker _himself_. I mean, let the poor guy have a little time to shower and change and have breakfast, after all. Trip decided an hour would be sufficient and spent it wandering around the neighborhood, making notes on the shops he wanted to ask Malcolm about later. He didn't even bother going _in_ them; he could just hear the man's voice in his head, seductive accent dismissing one place or promoting another. Problem was, of course, that Trip didn't actually _know_ which ones he'd be dismissing or promoting. That would have to wait a bit.

He even decided to stretch things out a bit longer by _not_ calling the number Malcolm had given him, but instead trying to locate him through the more casual approach. "You know this guy named Malcolm, about so high, dark hair? Seen him today? Know where I might find him?" Everybody _knew_ Malcolm; no one had seen him yet that day; and Trip was cheerfully directed to two favorite breakfast haunts and a tea shop before a young woman suggested he try a bar a few blocks away.

It was a beautiful day, as beautiful as the night had been, but Trip could appreciate the neighborhood better in the daylight. The buildings were eclectic, well-maintained, intriguing; the streets and sidewalks were spotless; the flowering trees seemed to radiate that delicately sweet scent Trip had noticed the night before. The temperature was just cool enough to keep him from getting overheated as he strolled leisurely towards the bar in question but warm enough that he felt no need to rush.

Trip's eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim interior of the bar when he pushed through the door, and when they did he smirked a little. Of course, Malcolm with that posh "British" accent would be perfectly at home here, a cozy lounge with the air of an English pub. The ceiling was low, a fire crackled in the hearth, the motif was heavy on the dog-like creatures and hunting trophies. There was even a game on the wall in the corner that looked vaguely like darts. _Something for everyone_ , he thought to himself.

He'd been worried the place wouldn't be open, but the lone bartender looked up expectantly when he strolled in. "What can I get for you, sir?" he asked pleasantly.

"Actually I'm lookin' for someone," Trip replied. "Fellow named Malcolm. Heard he might be here."

The bartender smiled, a knowing kind of smile that Trip didn't quite get. "Of course. Malcolm. I'll just go let him know you're here." With that the man disappeared into the back room.

Odd, but... whatever. Trip leaned casually against the bar, looking around the room, trying to figure out what the stuffed animal heads pinned to the walls might have looked like in real life. If they were real at all. He'd only been waiting a couple of minutes when another person scuttled into the room from a different door—an older man, rather short and round, wearing a suit with a ruffle at the collar. For a moment Trip thought he was some kind of fancy bellhop like Chatelaine House had, especially when the man approached him and bowed low.

"Joniz Appulboon," he introduced himself grandly.

"Um... Trip Tucker," Trip replied, polite but mystified.

"Commander Tucker of _Enterprise_ , yes?" the man remarked, exceedingly pleased. "You and your crewmembers are _most_ welcome on Lymnaea."

"Thanks," Trip told him blankly.

"I am the owner of this establishment," Appulboon went on, a bit full of himself, "and if there is anything, anything at all, which I can do to make your stay in our city more pleasant, please do not hesitate to let me know."

Trip had never cared for being sucked up to. "I will, thanks for the offer," he answered, hoping his tone was final enough to send the man away.

It wasn't. "I understand that you've met one of my very _best_ employees," he went on. Trip blinked at him. "Malcolm?"

"Oh... yeah." This must be one of the bars where Malcolm worked. "Uh, listen," Trip added nervously, a thought suddenly occurring to him, "I hope I'm not takin' him away from his shift or anything, he said I should just call him up—"

"Not at all, not at all," Appulboon assured him. "Feel free to spend as much time with Malcolm as you like." Well, _that_ was kind of a strange thing to say, Trip decided. "You'll find he's _quite_ knowledgeable about the city. And, if I might add"—he leaned towards Trip with a kind of conspiratorial leer—"he's _quite_ knowledgeable about other things as well."

Trip's jaw dropped. "Um—what?"

The older man went on delightedly. "Now if Malcolm is not familiar with your preferred sexual practices, don't worry, he's a quick study. I'm sure he'll make your stay on Lymnaea memorable."

Trip was still staring at the man in shock. "Good morning, Mr. Appulboon," a clipped voice said from behind him, and Trip turned to see Malcolm hurrying over to them, a look akin to controlled panic on his face.

"I was just telling this young man all about your many talents," the boss laughed heartily.

"I—appreciate that," Malcolm replied uncomfortably. "I'm sure—Commander Tucker is eager to get started. With the tour," he added hastily.

"Of course, of course!" Appulboon slapped Malcolm cheerfully on the back as the dark-haired man took Trip's arm and began to guide him back outside. "Have a good time now!"

"Sorry about that," Malcolm muttered once they were out of earshot. "I don't know how the man became such a prominent businessman, with his utter lack of discretion..."

"What the _h—l_ was he goin' on about?" Trip asked, thinking back over the words.

"He's, uh—well, the words 'obsequious little toad' come to mind," Malcolm non‑answered dryly. He let go of Trip's arm but looped his own through it instead. "Still, as far as employers go, he's not too bad."

Trip stopped them both and turned to face Malcolm. "What was that about—sexual practices?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes a little. "Like I said, not the most discreet—"

"What exactly do you do?"

Malcolm looked at Trip innocently. "What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ "—Trip glanced around for a moment, to make sure there was no one nearby, then lowered his voice anyway—"are you a _prostitute_?"

"Yes," Malcolm replied matter-of-factly.

"Oh, G-d," Trip sighed, turning away. Wasn't that always his luck.

"Trip," the other man began in confusion, "I'm sorry, is—that a problem for your culture?"

"Yes, it d—n well _is_ ," Trip snapped. "The practice of keepin' people as— _sex slaves_ kinda went out on Earth awhile ago."

Malcolm looked just slightly affronted. "I'm hardly a _slave_ , Trip," he pointed out reasonably. "I'm an employee. I get paid. If I didn't like my job I would quit and get another."

"Yeah, well," Trip muttered, "the 'gettin' paid' part doesn't make it any better." He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid. Right then and there he resolved never to tell anyone, even Jon, about this latest misadventure. He'd never be let off the ship again. Come to think of it, maybe he didn't _want_ to leave the ship ever again.

"Trip—" Malcolm sounded genuinely mystified, and apologetic. "I'm sorry—I don't really understand why you're upset. I mean, the package your Captain bought was all—"

"All inclusive, yeah, I know, I get it," Trip retorted. "It's just—I thought _maybe_ —" _Just go ahead and compound your humiliation, Tucker_ , he told himself. "I thought _maybe_ you just liked me. That's all. I guess that was pretty dumb." And with that he started to walk away.

"Trip!" Malcolm ran after him. "Trip, would you just stop for a minute? I _do_ like you."

Trip glared at him, just for an instant, before resolutely turning away and continuing to stomp down the street. "Yeah, you say that while collectin' a paycheck for 'liking' me."

"Trip, there are _millions_ of tourists in this city," Malcolm pointed out. He still refused to get good and defensive, d—n him—he sounded like he was honestly just trying to make Trip feel better. "I started talking to you because I thought I would like you. I mean, there's a lot of other people to choose from."

"Well, thanks a lot," Trip told him snidely. "'Preciate you spendin' your precious time with me. Good-bye." Finally Malcolm got the hint and stopped following him. Trip didn't look back.

He didn't know what to do with himself, though. Everywhere he went in the neighborhood just reminded him of what a fool he'd been. Really, it wasn't exactly Malcolm's _fault_ ; that was just the way they did things here. He probably assumed Trip understood that, understood that Malcolm came along as part of the package deal, something provided by the management to be enjoyed just like the wide-screen comm system or the silken sheets or the bubbly liquor.

But Trip hadn't understood that. Sure, he wasn't naive enough to believe that Malcolm had sensed some kind of gooey soul mate connection between them or something sappy like that; he figured he was just a nice, good-looking guy out to have some fun with another good-looking guy (reasonably good-looking, anyway, Trip added stubbornly), and if they hit it off, they could spend a little more time together before Trip left the planet, probably for years, if not forever. They'd both look back, smile a little, and move on. Trip had no problem with any of that. But when he threw in the part where Malcolm got _paid_ to roam around bars, keeping an eye out for good-looking tourists he could have some fun with—well, it just kind of made something bitter rise in Trip's throat. He shook his head, darkly amused—it was worse to be someone's customer than a notch in their bedpost, apparently. Although he wasn't really sure why.

Trip didn't want to go back to the hotel Malcolm had picked out—maybe he would even have his registration transferred back to the bland lodgings where Jon was staying. Well, no, that would just make Jon ask questions. H—l, by now Jon might have heard about the whole "all inclusive" thing, from one of the city workers if not from one of his other crewmembers; it would probably be best to just play it cool. Oh, sure, I knew the whole time, but I figured, hey, what the h—l, might be fun. In retrospect it probably wouldn't turn out to be as embarrassing as the shore leave on Risa, when Trip and Marcus had trudged back to the shuttlepod in nothing but their blues and some hotel bathrobes, after they'd been stunned and stripped by two shapeshifting alien babes they'd tried to pick up. Yeah, that _definitely_ beat out "accidentally slept with a prostitute" for shore leave adventures.

Trip found himself standing near a park, unsure of exactly how long he'd been walking. The place was beautiful and shady and green, with surprisingly comfortable benches tucked among the groves of trees and bushes. Trip dropped down on one with a sigh, leaned back and closed his eyes. It amazed him to think how long he'd been thinking about Malcolm, for having known the man so little time—practically from the moment he'd walked out of Trip's hotel room, he'd been in the back of Trip's mind, if not the front. When he'd see him again, what they'd do, what Trip would tell Jon about him... Trip thought ahead to the rest of his shore leave—thirteen days—and it suddenly seemed endless, incredibly dull. Was there any way Jon would let him go back to the ship early? Trip snorted. He knew the answer to that one already.

A little voice nagged at him. He tried to bat it away but it kept popping back up. It was a little voice that said, _Well now you know. So what's the problem again?_ The problem was that Malcolm was just getting paid to _pretend_ to like Trip, to be his friend and show him around. It wasn't any kind of real affection. _You want real affection in a tourist town on a two-week shore leave? What are you, some kind of dreamy-eyed kid?_ But—it was just a _job_ , it was _fake_... _Didn't seem so fake last night, did it? You heard him, there's millions of tourists in the city. Bet he doesn't give all of them his number._ But if Trip called him up again, let Malcolm take him out, he wouldn't know whether Malcolm was just doing it because he wanted to, or because he felt obligated to. _And that's so important... why? You're a nice guy, you're not going to abuse him in any way. Maybe you could benefit from him just doing his 'job.'_

Trip felt the little voice might possibly be winning. It felt a little reckless, a little... "we're not in Kansas anymore... but what's wrong with that?" He was certain his mother wouldn't approve. After all, if Malcolm felt like showing Trip around the city, how was that anything objectionable? Trip would have a good time. Malcolm would be doing his job. Like a tour guide or something. Okay, even Trip didn't believe that last bit. A tour guide who spent the night. Because Trip realized the idea of spending the day in Malcolm's company, but not the night, was just plain unrealistic.

What the h—l. Trip was saying that a lot lately. But it might be fun. And if the guy started to wear on him—Trip could just say, your work here is done. He could see the advantage in that, darkly. Accepting his resolution with a touch of residual grimness, Trip stood and made his way out of the park, trying to head back the way he'd come.

 

The bartender's name was Jorj. He didn't seem the least bit surprised to see Trip for the second time in one morning, and he also had the grace not to smirk knowingly as he said, "I'll show you to his room." Trip followed him through the back door, glad to not have run into Mr. Appulboon again, and up a set of stairs. "Third door on the left," Jorj told him, pointing, and Trip made his way on his own.

He hesitated a moment before finally hitting the door chime and steeling himself. Before he was fully ready the door slid open, and the attitude of cool sophistication he'd been practicing flew away. Malcolm stood in the doorway, draped in a sheet—and only a sheet, as far as Trip could deduce from the bare hip on one side. His jaw floundered open for a minute, then his smart mouth got the better of him. "You got a customer in there or you always dress that way?"

Any normal person would have been offended, but Malcolm just smiled, widely. "I just got out of the shower," he corrected, and now that he looked, Trip could see that his dark hair was still damp, and small drops of water glistened against all the bare patches of skin... Uh, not that he was looking that _closely_. "Will you come in?" He backed away from the door and Trip followed almost instinctively.

The soft hiss of the door as it shut behind him seemed to remind Trip why he was here, and what he was supposed to be feeling. Unfortunately these feelings were being rapidly transfigured as he watched Malcolm fuss with the sheet-towel-thing, finally wrapping it around his waist. It hung sinfully low and showed a generous amount of leg—Trip had always appreciated a good leg. "Please, sit down," Malcolm urged, indicating the bed.

Trip sat without thinking, realized he was on the bed, and stood up again. He wasn't going to make this _that_ easy. Then, glancing around, he realized the only other place to sit in the small room was the desk chair, which Malcolm was currently lounging in. Trip sat back down on the bed. "Just gettin' comfortable," he said to Malcolm's bemused look.

They were quiet for a minute. Trip wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to say. Finally Malcolm broke the silence. "I was really hoping I would see you again, Trip."

"Yeah, well..." the engineer muttered articulately, trying to look anywhere but at the other man. "This where you live?" he asked, for lack of anything better.

"It is," Malcolm admitted, glancing around himself with a slightly resigned air.

"Not much bigger than my cabin on _Enterprise_ ," Trip observed, then suddenly hoped Malcolm wouldn't take offense at the comment.

Malcolm shrugged. "It does well enough for me. Encourages me to get out more," he added with a smile. Then his expression became more serious and he leaned forward. "Trip, I just wanted you to know that I'm really sorry you were upset. I'm glad you came back... so I could tell you that."

Trip nodded absently. "So, um... You're, uh... you're a..."

"Prostitute?" Malcolm guessed. "Yes. I am."

"How long you been one?" Trip asked, out of sheer curiosity.

"About six months is all," Malcolm answered matter-of-factly. "It was the first job I interviewed for when I came to the city. I was very pleased to get it."

"What'd you do before?"

"Guess," Malcolm suggested, with an intrigued smile on his face. "It was something totally different."

Trip looked him over, more clinically this time, if that were possible. He was in good shape, certainly, but Trip hadn't noticed any calluses on his hands from manual labor... He might just have worked out as a hobby, though, and had any number of less active options as a profession—he was certainly intelligent enough to do just about anything, in Trip's opinion. But the more he looked the more he could see the faint outlines of scars all over Malcolm's arms, legs, and chest. His back, too, if he could remember from the night before. "Did you work with animals?" he speculated.

Malcolm's smile broadened for a moment. "Close," he allowed. "I was a diver, actually, off the northern coast. Not a terribly _good_ one," he added, indicating the same scars Trip had been eyeing, "as I kept running into reefs and rocks and hungry fish."

"So you decided to become a prostitute?" Trip was having trouble following the logic.

"Seemed like a good way to meet people," Malcolm replied nonchalantly. "Most of the people I meet are really quite nice," he went on in a reassuring tone. "Now, if I had gone to work at one of the specialty houses..."

Trip held up a hand to stop him. "Yeah, I get it." He let out a breath. "Look, I wanted to say I was sorry I yelled at you before. It's not your fault... Probably should've read the fine print on the contract..."

"Actually I used to be in the brochure," Malcolm informed him smartly. "Right next to the Aerial Garden and the Museum of Mechanical Wonders."

"The Museum of—what?" Trip asked, intrigued and willingly side-tracked.

"I thought you might enjoy seeing that," Malcolm predicted with a little smile. "I would be happy to show you... if you wanted." For the first time, he sounded slightly unsure of himself.

"Yeah..." Trip decided slowly. "I think I _would_ enjoy that." Finally he allowed himself to smile back.

Malcolm held his gaze for a moment, expression undeniably pleased. "Well, I'll just get dressed then."

 

The Museum of Mechanical Wonders held Trip's attention for hours, with its galleries full of obsolete inventions, gadgets, and man-made oddities from all over the galaxy. Even the cafeteria had delightfully convoluted mechanisms for dishing up food and drink. In the late afternoon they stretched out in the Aerial Gardens—Trip wasn't so keen on flowers, but the logistics of the place were an engineering wonder. And Malcolm just _happened_ to run into the chief maintenance worker of the place, who just _happened_ to be a pal of his, who just _happened_ to have plenty of time to answer all of Trip's questions about it.

As the sun began to set they walked across a wide plaza, sharing a massive puffball of vaguely fruit-flavored candy floss. Trip was eating most of it. "Hey, iwn't 'at Cop'n Arker?" he mumbled, around a large mouthful of fluff.

"What?" laughed Malcolm.

Trip gestured ahead, a blob of pink floss stuck to the end of his finger. "Cop'n Arker," he repeated, waiting impatiently for the sugar-based candy to dissolve in his mouth. "Cap'n Archer," he finally got out, trying to clean himself up a bit more. The pink fluff seemed to stick all over his face and clothes.

Malcolm peered ahead into the twilight at a figure walking in their general direction. "Is it?" The man was not alone but accompanied by a young lady. Both were laughing and paying little attention to the world around them.

"Hey, Jon!" Trip burst out, waving his arm broadly. Malcolm just smiled and shook his head, discreetly dropping the remains of the candy into a nearby trash receptacle. The other man turned at the sound of his name, stared, then smiled and waved back. "Oh, uh..." Trip guiltily glanced at Malcolm as Jon approached. "Jon doesn't really know about your, um, profession, so..."

"Not to worry," Malcolm assured him. "Although as I recognize the young lady he's with, he may understand more than you expect."

Before Trip could interpret that remark, Jon had caught up with them. They exchanged pleasantries and Jon added mercilessly, "And you must be the _local guide_ ," with a good-natured smirk.

"Guilty as charged," Malcolm admitted easily. "Alys, lovely to see you again."

The blond on Jon's arm leaned forward cheerfully and gave Malcolm a greeting kiss on the cheek. "Malcolm."

Jon was glancing between the two of them. "You know each other?"

"We work together," Alys told him brightly, and Trip choked a little in the background.

"Oh," Jon commented, unfazed. "Great. What a coincidence, huh?"

"Yeah," agreed Trip uncomfortably.

"So where are you two off to next?" the older man prompted with interest.

Malcolm and Trip looked at each other. "Well, we haven't really decided yet," the engineer admitted.

"Jon and I were going to have dinner at the Braithwaite," Alys revealed perkily, "and then go to the Night Zoo when it gets a little darker."

"The Night Zoo?" Trip asked in confusion.

"It's actually quite nice," Malcolm assured him. "All the plants and animals there glow in the dark. Very atmospheric."

"You two should join us," Jon insisted.

"Um, well..." Trip hesitated.

"Oh, come on!" Alys encouraged.

"Um... sure, why not," Trip finally decided. "Thanks." Malcolm gave him a little smirk as they fell in step beside the other couple.

 

Dinner was, in a word, delicious. In two words, _extremely_ delicious. The Braithwaite reminded Trip of an ancient Scottish castle, not that he had a lot of experience with ancient Scottish castles—flagstone floors, vaulted ceiling, stone walls draped with tapestries, enormous fireplace flickering and popping in the same room as the diners. Judging by the number of other customers, the place appeared to be rather popular, yet thanks to some brilliant table arrangement, it didn't feel overly noisy or crowded at all; Trip didn't have to shout to be heard over the other patrons, and he didn't have to squeeze and stumble around other chairs when he went to use the facilities.

But back to the _extremely_ delicious part. Trip really had no idea what the h—l he'd ordered. It had been Malcolm's recommendation—of course—from the appetizers to the soup to the entrée to the wine, and every bite and sip made Trip more and more convinced that he was being spoiled for all resequenced protein, forever. Nothing on _Enterprise_ , not even Chef's very best, could possibly compare to the broiled… fish… herb… roast thing he'd just eaten. Malcolm had pronounced the name for him, several times, but each of Trip's attempts to mimic the sound had just resulted in polite smiles and finally outright chuckles. So of course he kept trying to say it even more.

He had been worried, at first, about Malcolm's, er, suitability as a dinner companion for his Captain—he was willing to admit that to himself. Not that Trip thought Jon would be rude to him, if it somehow 'slipped out' what Malcolm's true profession encompassed, but—he could definitely imagine an uncomfortable moment or two. But he realized he should have known better—Malcolm was a master at being both charming _and_ discreet. In fact he was actually a bit quieter during dinner than Trip would have predicted, but he doubted Jon would notice, as Malcolm made sure a story never ended abruptly and a silence never descended awkwardly.

Alys, Jon own 'local guide' he'd met while out climbing that day, had proven to be bubbly and delightful herself, full of nearly as many helpful suggestions and pleasant questions as Malcolm. She'd even persuaded Jon to accept his own 'upgrade'—not to Chatelaine House, which Trip was oddly grateful for, but rather to another small inn a few blocks away. Trip had missed the exact name, but he thought he'd heard something about it being a converted sailing ship. He had faith that Malcolm would recall the place later, should Trip require it.

After the meal was finished, and the food digested a bit, the two couples hopped aboard a colorful, open-air public transport that made regular stops all over the city, ringing an insanely cheerful bell at every cross street. Dark had fallen like a velvety blanket and the other riders of the transport appeared to be as happy and relaxed as Jon and Trip and their companions. The transport hit a bump in the street suddenly, jarring everyone inside, and for a moment Trip thought how odd it was that a place this dedicated to being perfect couldn't even fix a pothole. Then he realized that somehow, Malcolm's hand had fallen onto his knee, and his own arm had gone around the other man's shoulders, and he decided it was a very well-placed pothole, indeed.

They disembarked at the stop for the Night Zoo, as advertised by an eerily-glowing sign arched above the park's entrance. "What do you suppose they do here during the day?" Trip asked sardonically.

"Charge up the exhibits, of course," Alys laughed, grabbing Jon's hand and leading the way in.

"Oh, of course," Trip replied, grabbing Malcolm's hand as well.

There was just something terribly… freeing about wandering around the darkness of the zoo. Not that he could even imagine feeling unsafe in this city at all, but usually when darkness fell on an alien world Trip's senses went on high alert, attuned to whatever person or creature might pop out from behind the next rock or building. But not only was he inside a spotless tourist mecca at the moment, he was also inside a secure attraction, with a man he'd trust with his life strolling a few paces ahead and another one he was imagining could someday make that same cut right beside him.

It wasn't _completely_ dark, anyway. There were lamps liberally placed throughout the zoo, although the glowing spheres were situated on the poles high above their heads, and the design was such that they wouldn't overshadow the biological exhibits. Bioluminescent flowers, mushrooms, birds, lizards, insects, and even mammals from dozens of different planets fluttered and chirped and swayed all around them, seemingly close enough to touch on the other side of low barriers. The effect was beautiful but somewhat disorienting; Trip felt like he couldn't quite get the source of light to come into focus, seeing it clearly only with his peripheral vision. He completely believed it when Alys said sometimes zoo patrons experienced hallucinations after their visits.

After about an hour they all found themselves at the entrance again and boarded the trolley-like transport as if by unspoken agreement. Trip at least had had a long day, that had started early and included at least one heavy meal, and he was becoming pleasantly drowsy. The sleepiness relaxed his inhibitions enough that he felt his head droop onto Malcolm's shoulder as they wound their way back towards the hotel—though he could never actually fall asleep as long as that d—n bell kept ringing.

"You want to grab a drink or anything, Trip?" Jon asked anyway, when it looked as though they might be splitting up soon.

Trip forced his head up enough to shake it. "Nah, thanks, though. Maybe tomorrow."

"This is our stop," Malcolm announced, nodding towards the next corner. "Lovely to meet you, Captain," he said politely. "Alys."

"Always nice to see you, Malcolm," she assured him.

"Don't keep him up too late," Jon smirked, and Trip gave him a look as the two men hopped off the vehicle.

There was a slight breeze in the air tonight that shook Trip awake a little as they stood on the sidewalk. "That place was something else, alright," the engineer remarked, still seeing little spots of yellow-green color dance before his eyes.

"It _can_ be a bit much," Malcolm admitted. "Perhaps we should have attended during the day—they have indoor exhibits, with black lights, so you can see the bioluminescence without being in the dark yourself."

Trip waved off his concern. "Nah, it was fun. The whole evening was fun." He grinned. "H—l, the whole _day_ was fun. I can't even remember when I've spent an entire day just doing things that were fun."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Malcolm told him sincerely, slipping his arms around Trip's waist.

"Did _you_ enjoy it?" Trip asked curiously, wondering if the man would say anything other than 'yes'.

"Well, I must admit, it doesn't hold the novelty for me that it does for you," Malcolm confessed with a smile. "But I enjoyed seeing _you_ enjoy it. And," he added thoughtfully, "I was quite intrigued by the new weapons exhibit at the Museum. I'd never seen that before."

Trip thought back to their first outing that day—was it only that morning? It seemed like it had occurred longer ago—and grinned as he recalled how interested Malcolm had been in the ancient, convoluted weaponry and armor. It was definitely an interest Trip never would have guessed the other man would have. "You should talk to Marcus," he snorted. "You two could compare notes."

"Marcus?" Malcolm asked with confusion.

"Our Tactical Officer on the ship," Trip clarified. "Loves weapons and blowin' stuff up and that kind of thing."

"Hmm," Malcolm remarked noncommittally.

Deciding he would rather have his arms around Malcolm somewhere _other_ than in the middle of the sidewalk, Trip glanced up and down the street, trying to determine where his hotel was. "Are you sure we got off at the right place?" he asked uncertainly. Malcolm gave him a mildly chiding look. "Well, it's just that I don't see the hotel," Trip added, feeling a little silly anyway. Malcolm knew this city like the back of his hand.

"The transport line doesn't go directly by Chatelaine House," Malcolm explained, taking his hand. "This is the closest stop. It's just a couple blocks away if we take a shortcut." He nodded towards a dark gap between two shuttered storefronts.

Normally Trip would never be stupid enough to walk into a dark alley, either on an alien world or on Earth, no matter how safe the place felt in general. Well, okay, actually he _had_ walked into dark alleys on a number of occasions, but every time he'd done so unnecessarily, he'd realized how stupid it was. But now he was being pulled towards a dark alley, on an alien world, and almost all of him wasn't protesting.

But a tiny little part was. "Um, I don't mind takin' the long way," he assured Malcolm, dragging his feet just a little.

"Are you _nervous_?" Malcolm teased, sweetly, and Trip grinned at his tone. "A big, strong, Starfleet officer like _you_? Nervous, about a little dark alley?"

"Stop, stop," Trip finally laughed, feeling slightly ridiculous. "You just don't understand," he tried, in a similar light manner. "I'm a trouble magnet. You can ask Jon about that. I could probably walk down the emptiest street in the universe and still get hit by a car or something."

"Mmm, well, we wouldn't want that," Malcolm admitted, taking a moment to nuzzle Trip's neck. "It's just—there's a bit of a breeze, you see."

Trip blinked his eyes back open and tried to focus on the weather report he was receiving. "Don't tell me you're _cold_. I know it's pretty temperate around here, but honestly—"

Malcolm chuckled against Trip's throat. "The breeze means a rain shower is brewing," he corrected lightly. "And if we take the long way, we'll probably get caught in it. Which isn't the worst thing, certainly, but…"

By this point Trip was thinking that getting back to the hotel faster was a very good idea, impending rain shower or not. Besides, it wasn't a very _long_ alley. "Okay, okay," he agreed, reluctantly stepping back from Malcolm a bit. "You've convinced me!"

Malcolm smiled in response and held out his hand towards Trip. The other man took it, gripping firmly, and together they proceeded to walk into the dimly-lit alleyway with two large buildings looming on either side, with not another single person in sight.

And about halfway through, they were set upon by a mugger.

_Figures_ , was the first thing Trip thought when the large, blocky shadow came up out of nowhere. Immediately thereafter he began his defensive postures, fully prepared to aid in getting himself and Malcolm the h—l out of there to safety. There was scuffling off to his left, but before Trip could plunge in blind, he heard Malcolm snap in a furious tone, "What do you think you're _doing_?! It's _me_ , you idiot!"

A pocket torch flashed on, illuminating the narrow pathway that was surprisingly clean and well-maintained for an alley. The torch was carried by a rather large and intimidating man who squinted and asked in an incongruously hesitant voice, "Malcolm? Is that you?"

"It certainly is!" Malcolm replied, his tone deeply offended. "And I'm with a _tourist_! Are you out of your mind?"

"Oh, wow," the man intoned. "Geez, I'm really sorry. Hey, are you okay?"

Malcolm brushed his jacket off by the light of the torch, as though mere proximity to the man might have contaminated it somehow. Trip just concentrated on picking his jaw up off the ground. "Um, Malcolm, are you—"

"I'm fine, thank you," the dark-haired man assured Trip, obviously trying to rein in his temper for his friend. "Are you alright?"

"Um, yeah, fine," Trip nodded, still rather mystified. "What's goin' on?"

The flickering pocket torch threw Malcolm's face into high relief, making it difficult for Trip to discern the more subtle aspects of his expression, but he suspected the other man was, in short, p----d as h--l. "Trip, this is a"—long pause, fraught with peril for the stranger—" _friend_ of mine, Yazpur. Yazpur, this is my friend Trip, who is taking _shore leave_ in the city."

"Hey there," Trip greeted his once-potential robber, unsure what the proper etiquette was in this situation. "How's it goin'?"

"Oh, I'm okay, I guess," Yazpur sighed heavily. His voice was that of a man whose entire day—no, make that entire _week_ —could be summed up by the fact that he'd just tried to mug someone who was, apparently, a pal. Defeat and resignation, in other words. "Uh… Are you enjoying your shore leave in the city?"

"Oh yeah," Trip answered politely. "It's been real nice so far."

"With the exception of _this_ misadventure," Malcolm added acidly, glaring at the heavy-set man.

He looked so sorrowful that Trip actually felt sorry for him. "Gosh, Malcolm, I'm sorry," Yazpur repeated regretfully. "I just didn't recognize you in the dark, is all."

"Well you should know better than to work in a tourist district!" Malcolm excoriated, unrelenting. "What's the matter with you? I could have broken your neck!"

Trip thought the exaggeration was a little unfair, seeing as how the third man was so obviously penitent. "It was just a mistake," the engineer suggested. "No harm done, right?"

Malcolm narrowed his eyes at Trip, as if he were thinking, _I should have_ known _you would excuse him!_ "Well that's a very generous attitude to take, Trip," he responded pointedly, clearly directing the words at Yazpur. "Since crimes against tourists are punishable by several years in a labor camp."

"Honest, I didn't know he was a tourist!" Yazpur insisted, the pocket torch bobbing with his earnest hand movements. "I thought maybe, you guys were just some city workers heading home or something." His eyes widened nervously. "You're not gonna turn me in or anything, are you?"

Malcolm let the man stew for a moment, looking him over. "No, I suppose I won't," he finally decided, sighing heavily as though this decision were a difficult one. "But I'd better not catch you making this sort of 'mistake' again!" he warned fiercely. "If the city isn't safe for tourists, we're _all_ out of a job, and that includes _you_!"

"Oh, I agree, absolutely," Yazpur assured him, nodding enthusiastically. There was a sudden whistling high in the clouds above them, the breeze increased noticeably, and the air was flooded with the scent of approaching rain.

"Honestly," Malcolm muttered peevishly. "Now we're going to get soaked." As if on cue the sky opened up and began dropping bucketfuls of water on them. Malcolm grabbed Trip's hand and pulled him towards the other end of the alley. "Come on! See you, Yazpur!"

"Bye, Malcolm!" Trip heard distantly behind them. For an instant he wondered where the other man would go to get out of the storm; then he was distracted by how incredibly, unbelievably wet _he_ was becoming. 'Storm' was actually too strong a word; there was little wind, no thunder or lightning that Trip observed, and the rain that fell was not unpleasantly cold. There was just a tremendous amount of it, blocking his vision all but a meter or so ahead, dripping into his eyes, saturating his clothing to the point that Trip wondered if perhaps the water on this planet had a chemical composition different from ordinary Earth-type water.

"What the h—l!" he exclaimed, in general response to the last fifteen minutes or so, as he and Malcolm emerged from the other end of the alley. It was more an expression of confusion and mounting frustration than anything else—he certainly had no intention of starting a long conversation under the current conditions.

Fortunately Malcolm was concentrated fully on his mission of getting them someplace dry. He paused, just for a moment, on the flooded sidewalk, then confidently tugged Trip to one side. "We have to cross the street here!" he cautioned, raising his voice to be heard above the pounding of the rain on the hard surfaces around them. "Watch your step!"

The street was like a shallow stream, even worse than the sidewalk, the water coursing by at least a few centimeters deep. Trip's feet were drenched immediately, which really just brought them into alignment with every _other_ part of him. He didn't understand how Malcolm even knew where they were going; he himself didn't see the little wrought-metal gate until they were practically on top of it, and if his companion hadn't reminded him of the approaching steps Trip would have ended up face-first on them.

At first Trip was glad to dive through the front door of the hotel and escape the storm; it was so much _quieter_ in the furniture-heavy lobby, and even if he couldn't actually feel the warmth of the crackling fire the sight of it comforted him a bit. But then he realized he actually felt _worse_ just standing there, dripping and marinating and feeling about as ridiculous as he assumed he looked. Fortunately Malcolm didn't leave him unattended for long. "Come on," he repeated. "Let's get upstairs."

Trip's shoes squelched when he walked, leaving wet shoe-marks on the creaky stairs. _That_ couldn't be good for the wood, he thought. And even turning back to look at them had sent droplets of water flying in all directions from his hair and shoulders. Trip thought he had truly never been this wet before, outside of a shower stall that is. Malcolm opened the door to Trip's room and drew him inside, shutting the portal firmly behind him.

"You're completely soaked," he remarked unnecessarily, but with concern, looking Trip over. Trip could have said the same about Malcolm, but somehow he carried it off better, the engineer decided—the t-shirt plastered against his chest, the odd bits of hair sticking up in random directions, the pants darkened with rain… 'completely soaked' was a good look for him. Trip, on the other hand, felt like a half-drowned rabbit. A half-drowned rabbit that was rapidly getting _cold_.

"What you need is a hot bath," Malcolm assessed, heading for the bathroom. "I'll go fill the tub." Rumbling, sloshing sounds emanated from the bathroom, and after a moment Malcolm returned to the living room, a perplexed expression on his face. "Trip… why are you still standing in the doorway?"

The other man shrugged helplessly. "I just couldn't walk on the carpet like this," he admitted sheepishly. "I'll ruin it!" It was a _very_ nice carpet, after all. And besides, Trip was _cold_ , and his brain was telling him that maybe if he just didn't move, ever, he might be _less_ cold.

Malcolm shook his head, smiling a bit indulgently. He grabbed both of Trip's hands and pulled him towards the bathroom. "It's _all inclusive_ , you know," he reminded the other man with a smirk. "That includes new carpeting, if necessary."

The blue bathroom felt chilly to Trip, the slick marble walls offering no warmth and the space too large to warm quickly, even with the door pulled shut. The huge bathtub with the steam rising from the churning water and fogging up the mirrors on the walls reminded him of nothing so much as a large cooking pot. He shuddered a little and found he couldn't stop. Malcolm frowned with unease and placed a hand against Trip's forehead, then without a word began stripping his soggy clothes off, tossing them aside in a wet, soggy pile.

"Come on, in you go," he encouraged, nudging Trip towards the bubbling water.

"Um, isn't it kind of—hot?" the other man hesitated. The words were broken by shivers.

"You'll be fine," Malcolm insisted. "The water jets are on, is all. Come on then, I don't want you to get sick."

Trip shrugged, not really in a position to resist that well—being naked, wet, and shivery—and cautiously swung a leg over the high wall of the tub, toeing the water. He had to admit it was more temperate than he'd expected and allowed Malcolm to help place the rest of him in, sliding down into the comfortably toasty water until it splashed over his chin. The experience was more like relaxing in a hot tub than taking a bath, the container was so large. The warmth seemed to seep right into him, driving out the chill from the rain and loosening up the muscles that had recently gone tense.

"G-d," Trip sighed, hoping the word expressed everything he was feeling at the moment.

Malcolm sat on the edge of the tub, grinning down at him. "Better?"

"Oh yeah."

Eyes closed, Trip leaned back against the padded headrest of the tub. Slender fingers began threading gently through his hair, pushing the damp strands out of his eyes. "Would you like some tea?" Malcolm asked quietly.

"Mmm?" It was a struggle for Trip to open his eyes and focus.

"Sorry," Malcolm corrected himself. "It's a hot beverage, kind of herbal."

Trip grinned suddenly. "I know what tea is," he assured the other man. Someday he would have to ask Hoshi why some concepts seemed to translate well and others didn't. But not any day soon. He glanced over his companion. "You know, you got pretty soaked out there, too," Trip observed. "Maybe you better get in here."

Malcolm smirked. "That wouldn't disturb your relaxation?"

"I'll scoot over a bit," Trip promised, getting a handful of Malcolm's wet t-shirt in his grip. "I don't want you to get sick either, after all…" He reeled the other man in closer to him, gaze flickering from his eyes to his lips and back again.

Malcolm let his lips brush against Trip's as he murmured, "Are you going to let me _remove_ my clothes, or just pull me in as-is?"

"Well, they're already wet…" Trip pointed out.

"I don't know," Malcolm teased. "You're starting to sound a bit feverish to me. Perhaps you'd better get out of this hot water."

"Listen, pal," Trip insisted, tugging on his clothes even more, " _you're_ gonna be the one in hot water if you don't hurry up and get in here!"

Malcolm pulled back with a perplexed expression on his face. "What? Maybe you really _are_ becoming delusional."

It took Trip a minute to figure that one out. "No, no, 'in hot water' is an expression, it means 'in trouble,'" he explained quickly, willing his brain to _not_ divert to thoughts of _Enterprise_ 's Comm Officer at the present moment.

Malcolm smiled as understanding of the idiom dawned. "Well in that case," he decided, standing and ridding himself of the damp clothes, "I should rather be _in hot water_ with you, than… _in hot water_ with you."

 

When the shore leave had begun, two weeks had seemed interminable to Trip. He couldn't imagine himself being able to fill the time without large chunks spent sleeping or just plain being bored. And then suddenly, he woke up one day and realized he would have to go back to the ship tomorrow.

Malcolm, of course, had a much better sense of time than Trip did. Propping himself up on one elbow he reached over and stroked a finger down the other man's nose gently, just because he could, and smiled as he asked, "So what do you want to do on your last full day on Lymnaea?" He could hardly miss the way the light in Trip's eyes dimmed a bit at that phrase, but Malcolm was nothing if not a realist and pressed on cheerfully. "Shall we go to the athletic facilities again? What about that concert Hoshi said she was going to? Oh, I know, perhaps you'd like to go to the Aerialists' Field and take a balloon ride over the city." For some reason none of those options appealed to Trip and he shrugged apathetically, twining his fingers with Malcolm's. The dark-haired man scooted closer. "Maybe you'd just like to stay in today? Breakfast in bed, movies on the couch…"

Trip smiled, fondness tinged with melancholy. "We did that yesterday. And Monday. And last Saturday."

Malcolm smiled as well. "So? It's shore leave. You're supposed to relax." He wrinkled his nose. "Just promise we won't watch any more of those awful _horror_ movies…"

Trip chuckled. "They're not even that scary, Mal! I can't believe you're so squeamish." He slid his arm around Malcolm, pulling him in to rest his head against Trip's shoulder.

"Too much suspense," Malcolm assured him, rubbing his hand lazily over Trip's stomach. "I hate suspense."

"Gets the heart pumping," Trip countered. They had already had this 'argument' three times and the routine of it was comforting to him at the moment. "Gets the adrenaline flowing."

"Some of us are _not_   'adrenaline junkies,'" Malcolm reminded him pointedly, poking Trip in the ribs. "Some of us appreciate the quiet life, you know."

"Well, then, we should have a _quiet_ day, I think," Trip decided, staring up at the blue canopy above his head. "What would _you_ like to do?"

Malcolm didn't pause long to think. "Well, I think you would quite enjoy the balloon tour, actually," he suggested. "I know one of the maintenance workers, I'm sure he'd let you see how the balloons operate—"

Trip chuckled a little. "No, I mean—what would _you_ like to do?"

Malcolm lifted his head and looked Trip in the eye, obviously confused. "I'm sorry, what do you mean?"

Trip rolled over on his side so he wasn't craning his neck to see the other man. "I mean, you've probably been on the balloon tour a dozen times," he explained. "What's something that _you_ , personally, like to do? Your favorite restaurant, or your favorite place to go in the city?"

Malcolm blinked at him for a long time. "I, um… Hmm." Trip gave him an expectant look. "No one's ever asked me that before," he finally admitted.

Trip squirmed a bit, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. "Well, geez, I guess I ought to've asked earlier," he responded quickly, the words tumbling out. He didn't know why that simple act hadn't occurred to him earlier, except that--"You're just so full of good ideas—but I didn't mean to, er, monopolize your time—" Even as he spoke he realized how _stupid_ the words were and he broke off, face flushing. He was _hardly_ 'monopolizing' Malcolm's time. It was, after all, Malcolm's _job_ to spend time with him—a fact which they had both been politely ignoring for the last two weeks.

Malcolm gave him a moment, then caressed the morning stubble on Trip's face with a finger, a soft smile on his lips. "There _is_ someplace we haven't been yet," he revealed thoughtfully. "It's just a park, I don't know if you'll find it interesting, but I _do_ like to go there sometimes…"

Trip finally looked up into the eyes that were neither pitying nor laughing at him. "I would like to see it," he assured the other man truthfully.

"Well, in _that_ case, darling," Malcolm decided, "we'd better get up and have some breakfast."

 

The park turned out to be the one Trip had absently walked to the morning he found out about Malcolm's profession—though he chose not to mention that little fact, the irony was not lost on him. Fortunately the park was quite large and Trip enjoyed strolling down the paths with Malcolm enough that he didn't dwell on his previous visit. They stayed on the shady, winding trails along the side of the park, leaving the large, open green space at the center to the crowds of sun-bathers, amateur athletes, and a curious flock of silent individuals performing some kind of yoga-like ritual to the steady beat of a huge drum. If he tired of the people-watching Trip could always examine the clumps of exotic, colorful flowers that seemed to be planted along the path every few meters, or the occasional fountain or memorial statue they encountered. But mostly he just enjoyed—not having to think at all.

"This is really nice," he assured Malcolm, in case the other man feared he was bored. "I can see why you come here."

His companion nodded. "It reminds me of someplace," he commented absently, then quickly added, "back home, I mean. In the north."

"It reminds _me_ of Golden Gate Park," Trip offered, finally placing the familiar tone of the place. "That's in San Francisco, back on Earth."

"Is that near Florida?" Malcolm asked curiously, remembering the stories Trip had been telling him about his childhood on the Gulf Coast.

The blond knew better than to laugh—why would Malcolm know anything about Earth geography, after all? "No, it's pretty far away, actually. But San Francisco is where I had my Starfleet training," he explained. "I spent several years living there, both as a cadet and as part of an engineering team, after I graduated."

"And you went to this… Golden Gate Park often?" Malcolm surmised. The hand he held with Trip swung back and forth between them idly.

"Yup," Trip agreed, thinking back happily. "It's right on the ocean. You can smell the salt air as you're walkin' through. That's about the only thing this place is missing," he remarked suddenly. "No beaches."

Malcolm stopped in the middle of the path, forcing Trip to stop as well. "I can't believe I was so stupid. I'm so sorry, Trip."

Trip stared at the other man, feeling a burst of apprehension that threatened to undermine the pleasant stroll. Malcolm never spoke that way. "What's wrong? What are you talking about?"

Clearly angry at himself, Malcolm shook his head. "I could have—well, technically, I'm not supposed to leave the city limits, but I could have taken a vacation day—there's a lovely beach to the north, but it's several hours—" He glanced at his chrono, the wheels turning in his head. "If we left now—but the trains don't run very often—but I could rent a transport—but the weather isn't the best this time of year—"

Trip had to take his shoulders in both hands to stop him. "Mal. Malcolm! It's okay," he assured him. "Don't worry about it." He tried to smile in a reassuring way.

Malcolm still looked thoroughly disgusted with himself. "I just feel rather terrible for not thinking of it," he fretted. "I mean, knowing how much you like the water—after you told me about all the diving you did when you were younger, I should have--"

Trip pulled him into a hug. "I gotta say, Mal, I've enjoyed myself so much on this shore leave, that was the first time I even _thought_ of it, honest." He held the other man at arm's length again, trying to read the expression on his face and coax it back into a smile. "Okay? Mal?"

Finally Malcolm rolled his eyes a bit and gave a sheepish grin. "Okay. I just—"

"Stop," Trip commanded firmly. "I'm tellin' you, this is the _best_ shore leave I've ever had." Granted, there wasn't a lot of viable competition for that title. "I'm certainly not going to waste my time regretting _one_ thing that I didn't get to do."

"Okay," Malcolm repeated, with more certainty this time. He cleared his throat and glanced around a moment. "Um, there's a small lake just around the corner," he pointed out to Trip. "It has a tiny island with just enough room for a bench on it. It's a very peaceful spot to sit and think. I like to go there sometimes…"

Trip grinned at him. "Well, let's check it out, then."

 

From the dark smudges under Trip's eyes and the general untidiness of his appearance, Jon surmised that he hadn't gotten much sleep his last night on the planet—but his hangdog expression and the way he listlessly picked at his breakfast in the hotel restaurant suggested it wasn't for any _pleasant_ reason. The older man sighed inwardly, having worried that something like this might occur to his open-hearted friend—Trip was positively infatuated with this Malcolm fellow. And while he seemed like a great guy, from what Jon had seen and heard—talk about a long distance relationship! It would be even more difficult than the connection Trip had tried to maintain with the infamous Natalie… at least he was pretty much guaranteed to come back to Earth at _some_ point. But despite the fabulous recreational opportunities available here, Lymnaea wasn't exactly going to become a regular stop for _Enterprise_ —in fact Jon was doubtful their course would _ever_ take them back to it, or not for years anyway.

"Great break, huh?" Jon prompted with forced cheerfulness. "It'll be nice to get back to work feeling rested, don't you think?"

Trip shrugged noncommittally; he didn't look particularly rested at the moment. Instead he just broke off a corner of his toast, poked at his rapidly congealing eggs with it, then resumed staring with unfocused eyes at the plate.

Jon steeled himself and tried again. "I've already talked to T'Pol this morning. Apparently Maintenance has gotten the ship clean from bow to stern. And," he added, his tone far, _far_ too enthusiastic for the topic, "she says there's a _quaternary star system_ only three lightyears from our current position that no one's really explored! So I expect we'll head that way later today." He waited a moment. Trip's interest was not piqued. "Isn't that _fascinating_ , Trip?"

"What? Oh, yeah, absolutely," the other man replied automatically.

"The only problem T'Pol mentioned," Jon went on, keeping a close eye on his friend, "is that apparently there's been an infestation of some kind of fluffy creature aboard the ship, and the fur's pretty much clogged up the warp engines. But I told her that was nothing you couldn't fix pretty quick."

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," Trip agreed dully.

Jon put his silverware down. "Trip."

The blond finally looked up, shook his head a bit, and refocused on his friend. "What? Sorry, Jon." He struggled to sit up straighter in his chair. "Um, what were you saying?"

"Are you meeting Malcolm again before we leave?" Jon asked, plunging into the topic he was most concerned with.

Trip hunched over his unappealing plate of food. "No, we said good-bye already," he replied, clearing his throat.

"He seemed very nice," the older man hinted. "I'm glad you had such a good time with him." Trip nodded, not looking up. "Are you, um, do you think you'll keep in contact, or…?"

"No," his friend answered distinctly, with a dry smile. "Just a shore leave thing, you know. A good time was had by all."

"Right, back to work refreshed and rested," Jon repeated encouragingly.

"Yeah, exactly," Trip agreed, forcing himself to stop ignoring his friend and commanding officer anymore. He was _mooning_ , like he'd promised himself he wouldn't, because shore leave couldn't last forever and he knew he would have to say good-bye to… the planet… eventually. And he was being rude to Jon, which was just not acceptable. "I'm glad you made me come down here, by the way," Trip added, giving credit where credit was due. "And glad you sprung for the 'all inclusive' package." He smirked a bit to himself at that, then he frowned as he thought back over Jon's words from earlier. "Um, did you say something about _fur_ a minute ago?"

 

"Are we supposed to depart from the blue zone or the green zone?" Trip asked quizzically, glancing around the crowded transport station. The strap of his bag dug into his shoulder uncomfortably, reminding him that a certain someone had been spot-on when he'd suggested that Trip get a separate bag for the piles of souvenirs he was toting back to the ship, instead of just stuffing them into the one pack he'd brought down.

"I think Rogers is actually landing the pod at the blue zone, block 37," Hoshi tried to remember, squinting with concentration. "But we have to go _through_ the green zone first, to get our bags checked." Words in a dozen languages bounced off the cavernous walls of the station, making the Comm Officer difficult to hear even though Trip was standing right beside her.

"Why do they have to check our bags?" Travis queried, confused. He shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly, tired of standing around on the hard floors waiting for their departure time to arrive. "We're getting on our own shuttlepod."

"Contraband, I think," Jon suggested. He had set his own extra-heavy bag down on the floor at his feet when it looked like they were going to stop in one place for a minute. "Make sure we aren't taking away anything we shouldn't."

"They just give everything away for free here!" the helmsman protested mildly. He stepped closer to the other three officers, dodging another group of travelers in the congested hallway. "What could we have taken that they would disapprove of?"

Trip grinned at the younger man. "You seem awful concerned about this, Travis. What have you _got_ in that bag?" He gave in and detached his bag from his shoulder, wincing as the muscles protested the change.

"The green zone is… this way, I think," Hoshi determined, glancing at the directions on the wall map.

"I thought it was _that_ way," Jon countered, pointing in completely the opposite way.

Travis decided to take a close look at the map as well, to prevent the engineer from taking a close look at _his_ bag. "Is it me, or is this map unnecessarily confusing?"

"No, I think it's just the right level of confusing," Trip offered unhelpfully, sticking his head in to the cluster of officers.

"I really think we should go _this_ way. Sir," Hoshi reiterated, respectful but firm.

"But if _we're_ here," Jon mused instead, poking at a pink diamond on the map, "the green zone should be _that_ way, don't you think?"

"Is _that_ where we are?" Travis asked, trying to locate the service counters around them near the pink diamond.

"Well, isn't this the 'you are here' symbol?"

"I don't think they _have_ a 'you are here' symbol," Hoshi contradicted. "Sir."

"Oh." Now Jon looked perplexed as well, which meant they weren't going _anywhere_ for the moment. Trip tried to sigh quietly and wished he had thought to grab one of the little burrito-like snack things Malcolm had sold him on before he'd left the tourist district that morning.

"Wow, everything here has just been so convenient and clear-cut," Travis remarked, slightly disappointed. "I guess nothing's perfect, though."

"Maybe we're just not _smart_ enough to read the map properly," Trip put in. Was that kiosk over there selling the burrito-like things? And how ticked would Jon get if Trip just decided to wander away from the group?

"Excuse me, sir, are you Captain Archer of _Enterprise_?" a polite voice inquired, and the four officers turned to see an obtrusive-looking person in the uniform of the transport station.

"I'm Captain Archer," Jon replied, automatically slipping back into his 'leader' voice. Which didn't _quite_ match with the rather casual t-shirt he was wearing, featuring some kind of tourist-trap cartoon and a phrase in Lymnaean that Hoshi insisted was a clever pun yet wouldn't explain.

"If you and your party would care to accompany me, sir," the man continued courteously, "we have a waiting area for select guests in the yellow zone, with complimentary food and beverages while we check your bags."

"The yellow zone?" Jon and Hoshi turned back to the map. "Where's that? I don't see it on here."

The steward produced a folded map from his pocket and pointed out the 'yellow zone' for them. It was, indeed, a block of space yellow in color. Kind of hard to miss, really. Hoshi took the offered map and compared it, frowning, to the one on the wall. "Is this map out of date?" she asked the man.

"No, ma'am," he assured her cordially.

"That's not a map, is it?" Trip guessed after a moment, indicating the… sign on the wall they'd all been scrutinizing.

"No, sir," the steward replied discreetly. "However, if you would like to order from that restaurant's menu, we can deliver the meal to the yellow zone for you…"

Jon gave Hoshi a look as she continued to glance from the folding map to the menu. "Maybe you could just show us to the yellow zone," he finally suggested to the steward. So much for clarity of communication.

"I just don't understand it," Hoshi muttered distractedly.

The steward gave the local equivalent of a finger snap and several other uniformed workers appeared to load the officers' baggage onto a anti-grav unit, which was then pushed at the head of their party as the man led them confidently through the station.

"Do you think he meant that about 'select guests,' or is that just what they say to everyone?" Travis wondered in a quiet voice.

"Well, they can't say it to _everyone_ ," reasoned Trip, though in reality he was as bemused as Travis. "I mean, you couldn't stuff _everyone_ in this place into that tiny spot on the map…"

Jon overheard them. "Well you know, Travis, there's actually a lot of free upgrades available here," he pointed out in a knowledgeable tone. "It's just that most people don't think to ask for them." Trip smirked and shook his head at his friend.

"Well, who thought to _ask_ for the upgrade?" Travis continued curiously. He was beginning to wonder what _else_ he might have missed out on during this trip.

"Not me," Trip assured them.

"Not me, either," Jon replied. "But some of us have contacts among the locals, you know," he grinned at Trip.

The yellow zone was located behind a discreet door in the transport station and led them from the efficient, echoing, slightly sterile main floor to a carpeted, cozy room filled with overstuffed couches, an elegant stone fireplace, and a well-stocked bar. "This is _definitely_ an upgrade," Travis remarked happily, plopping down in one of the cushy chairs. Another steward immediately attended him with a glass of something sparkly and a plate of snacks.

Trip allowed Jon to go in before him, then let a distracted, map-fixated Hoshi push past as well, since she looked as though she was about to just run him down anyway. At the last moment, he turned in the doorway to look back over the extensive, high-ceilinged transport complex. His eye was drawn upwards, to the second level, and to a dark figure leaning on the railing, watching him. He couldn't quite tell if the other man smiled at him, but he gave a small wave that Trip returned slowly. Then he stepped onto the carpet and the steward shut the door firmly behind him.

Their bags were being attended to for them, their sustenance desires were sated, and the officers were able to trade a few last vacation stories in a comfortable atmosphere--nothing less than what Trip had come to expect from this planet, who put every other shore leave location he'd seen so far to shame. But in the end all he could think about was—Was it possible to fall in love in two weeks? And if so—how could he fall _out_ of it?


End file.
